the 13th Hour (39 page)

But after only two more shots, the pistol was twisted from his grasp. Dreyfus stood over him as he threw the pistol into the distant bushes.

"You don't understand," Nick shouted at Dreyfus as he raged up into his face. "So many will die."

"What?" Dreyfus said, dismissing Nick's statement. "I don't care what you may think. But he's still my brother; I'm not going to let someone kill him in cold blood."

Nick watched the escaping Cessna 400 bounce down the taxiway, swerving onto the runway without clearance, its speed increasing as the tarmac began to run out. Nick had never been a pilot, never professed an understanding of the physical dynamics of lift and how it applied to the wing of a plane, but he knew if Sam's velocity didn't increase he would never make it over the fence at the end of the runway.

The Cessna's nose began to lift as the engine strained, the wheels bouncing up and down. And as horrible a thought as it was, Nick hoped he wouldn't make it, that he would crash into the fence, that somehow, maybe, one of his bullets had caught the engine. He was not hoping for Sam's death but rather an interruption of his destiny, an interruption that would save 212 lives.

But then, with a final surge, the Cessna leaped into the sky, clearing the fence by inches. Nick watched it climb at an odd angle, the inexperienced pilot wounded and panicked, desperately trying to control the aircraft, hoping to escape.

And then Nick saw it: The AS 300 was circling back after takeoff, adjusting its heading toward Boston.

J
ULIA TOOK ONE
last look out the window as they flew over the Kensico Reservoir and closed her eyes, hoping to get a quick nap in so she would be rested for what was sure to be one of the most memorable evenings of her and Nick's sixteen-year relationship.

Without warning the jet tipped hard to the left. Drinks spilled, luggage came crashing out and down from the overhead storage bins, people shrieked in terror, as a collective fear consumed the passengers.

The jet engines screamed, their pitch climbing as they strained, pushing the jet into an unnatural angle of over sixty degrees.

Julia pushed herself back in the seat, her arms pressed tight against the armrests, her fingers clutching the edge in a death grip, holding herself in place as the jet continued to bank hard left.

And she thought of the life within her, unsure whether it was a boy or a girl. All that mattered was it was hers and Nick's. She wanted to protect it at all costs, knowing that if she was facing imminent death she would offer up her life so the child might live.

Out the window, Julia could see the ground, only a few thousand feet below. She couldn't breathe; her heart had surely stopped in panic. She turned and saw Jason across the aisle. His face was calm as he pulled out his phone, turning it on, no doubt calling his wife to say good-bye, to tell her that he loved her one more time.

All around her were cries for help, passengers pleading for some divine intervention, begging for somebody to do something, as if the pilot wasn't doing everything he could to not only save them but save himself.

And then she felt the hand upon hers, it was Katherine's, a reassuring gesture like the one her mother used to give her when she was frightened. Julia turned and looked into her elderly, wise eyes and saw a peace that contrasted with the terror surrounding them.

"Don't worry, child," Katherine said.

And everything slowed--the whine of the jet engines, the screams of the people all fell away as the warmth of Katherine's loving hand held her.

And Julia glanced out the window once more. She saw the reason for the jet's evasive actions, the reason everyone was on the brink of a nervous breakdown: A small Cessna was heading right at them. She could clearly see the man flying it, slumped forward. She could see the panic in him as he desperately steered right.

A
LL EYES WERE
fixed on the skies, the AS 300 banking so hard to the left it appeared to be on the verge of tipping over. The wings of the Cessna wobbled as Sam tried to swerve, but the looming disaster seemed inevitable. Nick could see Paul's face, his breath held, hoping, praying for a miracle, but Nick knew there would be no miracle.

And though Dance lay dead on the tarmac before him, this was all his fault. He was the one who had sent Sam into a panic, trying to kill him, causing him to run for his life. There was no telling how gravely Sam had been injured, how much blood he was losing, but whether or not the one-inch projectile had lodged in a vital organ or severed a crucial artery, the wound would prove fatal.

Nick had altered fate. Dance had been eliminated from the world, and with the head of the serpent removed, the collective body of his group of corrupt cops would fall. But Nick now realized as he watched the two planes heading for each other that he hadn't changed fate enough.

Nick watched the tiny Cessna on its intersecting pattern with the enormous AS 300 and knew all hope for the passengers was lost.

And they crashed, the Cessna driving nose-first into the jet. From this distance--the planes a mile up and a mile away--it was like a dragonfly attacking a bird, becoming entangled, but the damage the small craft inflicted on its giant victim was lethal. The jet's banking left turn uselessly continued, Flight 502 was now inverted from the impact. A small ball of fire erupted as the two aircraft began to tumble down out of the sky like an omen from God. All eyes were fixed on the falling planes.

"Oh, my God," Dreyfus whispered, crossing himself. He glanced at Nick, realizing what his brother had just done.

Nick could not imagine the panic within the jet. The crash surely did not end the lives of most of the passengers. They were no doubt all alive, trapped in the falling wreckage, knowing they were about to die a death everyone who ever flew feared.

And the twisted metal continued its fall, now tumbling end over end, specks of debris falling out of the back of the plane, specks that Nick knew were live passengers, all of it accelerating toward the ground like a stone at thirty-two feet per second.

A sense of helplessness permeated Nick and Dreyfus. They wished there was something they could do, wished they could reach up and stop it.

And the falling jet, what Nick thought of as a tomb, filled with chaos, filled with the damned, disappeared behind the trees. A fireball erupted, rolling up into the sky hundreds of feet, the volatile jet fuel igniting instantly upon impact. Seconds later, the explosion reverberated, the ground shaking as in an earthquake, like a mortar shell striking the town. Black smoke billowed upward, a beacon for rescuers who would find no one alive.

Nick couldn't imagine what he would have done if Julia were on that plane. He was oddly thankful, in the face of the loss of so many lives, that she had narrowly escaped death, being called off the jet at the last second as a result of the robbery. Fate was something he couldn't understand, and though he had briefly touched it, manipulated it, it was something that no one could foresee or control.

The moment hung silently in the air, silent prayers said for the dead.

"How did you . . . ?" Dreyfus looked at Nick but abandoned his question. He finally exhaled, pulling out his cell phone.

Nick followed suit. He needed to hear Julia's voice. Despite the death of Dance, he needed to tell her that he loved her, that everything was right in the world.

He dialed and found the call going directly to voicemail. He thought about where she could be and remembered she was at Washington House, just now seeing evidence of the robbery.

"Hi, honey, it's me." Nick said into the phone. "I just needed to tell you that I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul, with every ounce of my being. I'm sorry we fought this morning, I'm sorry if I upset you, but I was wondering, I know you're busy with work and all but I'd just love to stop by and see you. I hate that I left you on a sour note, thinking I was mad. Call me when you get this."

Nick hung up his phone and saw it light up with a message and one missed call. Nicked dialed his voicemail, knowing it was from Julia. She had probably called him as he called her.

Nick listened to her message, their words of love so similar. The warmth of her voice comforted his sorrow-filled mind. He stood there, the phone pressed to his ear as if it was a talisman, a magical link to her. He was so glad she left him the message. But then he heard the stewardess interrupt, telling her that she had to turn off her phone, that the doors were already closed.

And with a gut-wrenching realization, Nick knew what he had done.

Somehow, his actions had interfered with Julia getting off the plane, his delaying the robbery by five minutes had delayed the text message to her. She never heard about the break-in, she never knew to get off the plane.

Nick fell backward against Shannon's Mustang, his breath gone, his heart burning. Everything he had done, everything that he had gone through to save her was for naught. He had played about in time, he had toyed with fate as if it would bend to his will. But it was a force for which there was no match. No magical watch, no violation of the laws of physics could alter it. For fate was the most powerful force in nature.

And in that moment, Nick knew 213 passengers had perished. Julia was dead, lying in the midst of the charred wreckage of Flight 502.

N
ICK PULLED THE
watch from his pocket: 11:55.

Julia was dead. She was dead over and over again. He thought he was trapped in a time-warped hell, having to endure Julia's death in every hour in a new way.

And this time it wasn't at the hand of Dance. It was his fault and his fault alone, pulling her out of harm's way only to push her onto that flight. He had taken the scythe out of Dance's hands and killed her himself in his misguided arrogance.

All he strived for, everything he had done, everything he thought he was tasked to do, was wrong. The singular action that was to alter fate now was not killing her assassin, it was not killing Dance. It was the plane, everything tied back there now.

Nick grabbed the Colt Peacemaker from the bushes. He ran to the body of Ethan Dance and tore through his pockets; he found the dead cop's cell phone, flipped it open, and memorized the phone number of his last call. He stood, threw down the phone, and broke into an all-out sprint, racing for Dance's car. Racing to the body of Shannon.

He still had time.

CHAPTER
1

10:00
A.M.

A
LL WAS RIGHT IN
the world, at least for the moment. The lights were on, planes weren't falling from the sky, robberies hadn't occurred, and Julia was safe and alive. Smiles were still worn on the faces of the shoppers, people went about their routines in anticipation of another fun-filled summer weekend.

No one was aware of what was coming, no one knew the terrible turn life would take in an hour and fifty minutes except Nick. He had glimpsed the world of Byram Hills and knew how time would unfold from now until nightfall. But he had an ability that the men of fiction and history did not possess. Fate lay in his hands, he could change the future, by his actions he could change the course of time.

J
ULIA STOOD IN
the back of The Right Thing, staring at frames. She had no idea how big a sonogram picture was and had no idea what size frame to buy. She grabbed a set of three, each a different size, and figured she'd just make it work. She raced to the book section, grabbed her favorite Dr. Seuss book,
Fox in Sox
, and on her way to the checkout counter, grabbed a roll of teddy bear wrapping paper.

She was bursting with anticipation as her friend, Angela, checked her out. It was an excitement like that she felt as a little girl on Christmas, a feeling that Santa would make her dreams come true. But the excitement she was feeling now was not in receiving but in giving, the giving and sharing of life, providing Nick with the ultimate expression of their love, the gift of a child.

She got back into her car and turned out of the parking lot heading for the airport. Though check-in and security were brief at Westchester Airport, she wanted to give herself plenty of time for once, instead of having to rush, instead of having to make a mad dash for the gate.

As she entered Route 684, her cell phone rang.

"Hey, Jo," Julia said as she saw the caller ID and hit the speakerphone.

"I'm so sorry about this," Julia's secretary, Jo Whalen, said. "Mr. Isles and Mr. Lerner are in court and, of course, there's another
crisis
on the Collier deal. They say the merger can't and won't happen if the Collier children's trusts do not reflect the appropriate caveats in the event of the children's divorce."

Julia laughed. "The kids are five and seven."

"Maybe their parents can look into the future, I don't know. Mr. Lerner wants you to handle the conference call in their absence."

"You're kidding? When?"

"Now. Mr. Lerner prefaced his call by saying the $12 million in billables on the Collier account should be worth taking a later flight for."

"Let me turn around," Julia said, crestfallen, feeling as if Christmas had been canceled.